


Let's Call It A Draw

by saltythumbtack



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Chess, Gay panic? don't know her, I can't believe strip chess was already a tag, M/M, Napoleon is a Little Shit, Napoleon is a Tease, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strip Chess, plot if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 10:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltythumbtack/pseuds/saltythumbtack
Summary: Strip chess. I have no excuse for this.





	Let's Call It A Draw

“One game.”

“No.”

Napoleon sighed dramatically. “Peril, you can’t spend all evening playing with yourself. Why not play with me?”

Illya gave him a withering glare. “Because you are terrible at chess, Cowboy. I will win. No fun if it’s not a challenge.”

Napoleon shrugged. “I don’t mind taking a beating, Peril. Anything to stop you from spending another night hunched over that chessboard. It’s a lovely board, really, but I fail to see how it can capture your attention for so long when barely anything ever happens.”

Illya snorted. “That is because you are bad at chess, Cowboy.”

“Prove it.”

“What?” Illya snarled. Napoleon hid a smirk. Oh, this was too easy. Poor Peril and his pride. It made him much too easy to play.

“Prove it.” Napoleon repeated, lifting his chin in a defiant, almost insolent gesture. “If you’re really so amazing at chess, you should have no problem beating me.” 

In Illya’s defense, he’d beaten Napoleon every time they’d played chess together. The first few times, Napoleon attributed his losses to his own arrogance: He’d assumed that Illya was big and strong and not much else. He’d brushed off the numerous accomplishments in Illya’s file, insisting that it was only due to a lack of skilled opponents that Illya was able to rise to such a high rank. Illya had proved him very wrong, beating Napoleon with such ease that it was almost insulting. Since then, Napoleon had been loathe to engage in another beating, but he could only stand to watch Peril frown at a chessboard for so long before he went insane.

“Fine.” Illya said, the corner of his mouth curling upwards in an arrogant smirk. “I’ll even let you play white.” He reset the pieces, spinning the board so that the white pieces were in front of Napoleon. Napoleon pulled his chair up to the table, settling himself down comfortably and examining the board. 

After a moment’s consideration, he moved a pawn. Illya responded almost immediately, his eyes never leaving the board. Napoleon took a moment before making his next move, taking time to think it through. There was no way he could, not unless he cheated. Unfortunately, chess wasn’t exactly something he could cheat at, especially not without Illya noticing. He’d have to resort to other measures to get Illya’s attention off of chess.

It was a few minutes before Napoleon lost his first piece. He supposed he should’ve seen it coming, but really, his chess skills were rusty and Illya was actually quite good. Sighing, he shrugged off his jacket, laying it across the back of his chair. Illya’s eyes barely flickered up before returning to the board, hardly taking notice of the movement. Napoleon hid his smirk behind a hand, moving another piece, barely registering where he’d put it down.

There were a few curious things Napoleon noticed as he played chess with Illya. The frown between Illya’s eyes, for example, or the way his thumb was constantly touching his bottom lip. It was oddly endearing to see the way the normally massive Russian seemed to shrink down, taking up less space as he focused his attention on the small board in front of them. The anger and tension were still there, and Napoleon doubted that they’d ever really disappear, but they were less pronounced now.

Illya took one of Napoleon’s knights, and Napoleon sighed, surveying the board offhandedly as he tugged on his tie, loosening the knot and removing it, tossing it to the ground. Illya’s gaze tracked the movement, his frown growing slightly more pronounced. He glanced up at Napoleon, confused, but shook himself, quickly turning back to the board. Napoleon felt an inner thrill of delight, and fought to keep it from showing on his face. This was even more fun than he’d expected it to be.

It only took a few more pieces for Illya to break.

True, the first few times it wasn’t suspicious. Perhaps Napoleon was hot, or wanted to be more comfortable. Removing his shoes wasn’t unusual, though taking them off one at a time was a little odd. Still, Napoleon could see that Illya was growing increasingly suspicious, and the dam broke when Napoleon, undeterred by any semblance of decency, began unbuttoning his shirt after Illya took his rook.

“What are you doing?” Illya snapped, glaring at Napoleon. Napoleon smiled back as innocently as he could, which, if he was being honest, wasn’t all that innocently.

“Every time you take one of my pieces, I take off an article of clothing.” Napoleon said casually, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Illya made a choked sound, his mouth opening furiously, but nothing came out. Napoleon grinned predatorily.  
“Of course, it’d only be fair for you to play along.” Napoleon said, nodding to the pieces he’d managed to wrest from Illya. “I don’t mind you playing a bit of catch-up.”

Illya’s mouth fell open in indignation, and for a moment, Napoleon was worried that he’d overstepped, and took a moment to wonder if Illya could kill him with a chess piece. He concluded that Illya most definitely could, and inched his chair judiciously away from the board. Then, to Napoleon’s shock, Illya settled back in his chair, his eyes darkening, his expression becoming something almost predatory.

“After you, Cowboy. I believe you were in middle of something.” Illya said, nodding at Napoleon’s half-unbuttoned shirt.

Well.

That was certainly unexpected.

Napoleon recovered quickly from his shock, finishing the task of unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside with carefully measured haste. Illya watched him with a stare that was somehow simultaneously dark with lust and full of disinterest, and damn if it didn’t affect Napoleon in ways he’d rather not think about. 

“Your turn.” Napoleon drawled, lifting his chin defiantly. Illya met his gaze, unafraid, and pulled off his black turtleneck with a lazy, unhurried motion. Napoleon swallowed, trying vainly to keep his eyes locked with Illya’s.  
“Two more.” Napoleon said, hating how dry his throat had become. Illya toed off his shoes, which Napoleon was tempted to call cheating, if not for the fact that he’d taken off his shoes as well. It was a shame, really. He was looking forward to seeing as much of Illya as he could. 

Unfortunately, seeing Illya strip hinged on Napoleon being able to beat him at chess, so Napoleon was forced to admit that it was very unlikely that Illya would be losing any more clothes. Not unless Napoleon resorted to some decidedly underhanded methods, which he most certainly was not above doing.

The first of these methods was actually fairly tame, because, well, Napoleon wasn’t completely unfair. He sat up, arranging himself in such a way that his knees were spread a tad farther than entirely necessary, drawing the material of his tailored suit pants tight over his crotch. Illya’s gaze flicked down briefly, and Napoleon felt a surge of pleasure at how Illya’s eyes darkened. The pleasure was short-lived, though, as Illya merely rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the board.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Cowboy.” Illya said, the barest trace of amusement evident in his voice.

“Oh?” Napoleon said, arching his head slightly to bare more of his neck. Illya raised an eyebrow, giving Napoleon an almost bored look.

“You are trying to distract me so I lose game.” Illya said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Napoleon shrugged, conceding the point. To be fair, it was what he was trying to do initially, but once he’d realized that Peril was on board with stripping, his plans had changed. Losing the game was fine; he’d known from the beginning that he had no chance of actually beating Illya. But now? Now, he didn’t care how badly he lost, as long as he got to have Illya looking at him in that decidedly arousing manner, and if he got to see more of Illya, well, that was certainly a bonus.

“To be fair, I started the game with good intentions.” Napoleon said. Illya snorted disbelievingly, and Napoleon sent him a withering glare before continuing. “I can’t stand seeing you hunched over this chessboard every night. You need some excitement in your life.” 

“And this is...excitement?” Illya said doubtfully, gesturing at Napoleon. Napoleon smiled wolfishly. 

“Well, _I’m_ excited.” 

Illya groaned, shaking his head. He muttered something about stupid Americans under his breath, turning his attention resolutely back to the board. Napoleon took a moment to bemoan the loss of attention, his pride slightly wounded by the way Illya was able to completely ignore him in favor of a wooden board. He took some solace in the fact that Illya was undoubtedly playing his game, and that certainly boded well for things to come.

That spark of hope was quickly extinguished as Illya proceeded to completely decimate Napoleon’s side of the chess board. Napoleon watched with dismay as Illya systematically took his bishop, his other rook, both of his knights, and his queen, in quick succession. He had a sneaking suspicion that Illya was taking more pieces than absolutely necessary so that Napoleon would have to take off more clothes, but there was no denying that he was being thoroughly beaten at both games.

With a sigh, he removed his socks, undid his belt, and then stopped, hesitating, his hands on the fly of his pants. Shit. He counted the pieces Illya took, then looked at himself, brow furrowing in confusion. Napoleon started getting the horrible sense that he’d badly miscalculated the mechanics of the game.

“Do you need hand, Cowboy?” Illya asked, smirking. Napoleon opened his mouth to retort, but his breath caught in his throat upon seeing Illya’s expression. The Russian’s eyes were dark, only a thin ring of blue visible as he stared at Napoleon. That gaze did things to Napoleon that he’d prefer not to admit, but which were about to become plainly obvious. 

“No, Peril, I do not need a hand.” Napoleon replied testily. He’d definitely miscalculated, and now he was about to pay the price. 

It was a good thing he was _very_ comfortable with his body, otherwise this experience might be an unpleasant one.

As it was, it was shaping up to be a thoroughly humiliating one, to say the least.

It was humiliating because people _wanted_ to look at Napoleon, and he liked it when they did. People stared at him on the streets, from across the room in a dirty bar, from across posh hotel lobbies. People wanted him, they wanted to look at him, to have him, and when he stripped, they damn well watched. 

Illya looked at Napoleon the same way he watched Waverly debrief a mission. There was interest, but there was first and foremost an element of professional detachment, all behind a blank mask. It was infuriating at the best of times, and right now, it made Napoleon want to _break_ Illya. He wanted that damn mask to crumble, wanted Illya underneath him, _begging_ Napoleon to let him touch him. 

And if there was one thing Napoleon was good at, it was getting under Illya’s skin.

A sigh from Illya pulled him out of his reverie.

“Make your move, Cowboy. I am getting bored.”

That was all the motivation Napoleon needed.

He smirked, standing and undoing the button on his pants, noting with pleasure how Illya’s gaze flickered up, then reluctantly stayed on what Napoleon’s hands were doing. Good. That was exactly where Napoleon wanted his gaze to be.

Napoleon pulled down his pants, stepping out of them without preamble and tossing them over to join the rest of his clothes in an untidy pile. He paused, allowing Illya’s gaze to roam over his body, well-aware of the erection pressing against his boxers. If Illya wanted him to stop, wanted this game to end, now would be the time to do it. He could throw the chessboard, call Napoleon a freak, hit him, and storm out of the room.

Illya did none of those things.

Instead, his gaze tracked down Napoleon’s body, slowly returning to meet Napoleon’s gaze. Napoleon stood stock-still, unconsciously holding his breath. 

“You still need to take off one more.” Illya said, his voice much rougher than the last time he’d spoken. Napoleon smirked, feeling a vicious surge of pleasure. Oh, victory was sweet. He gave Illya a coquettish little wink, hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, and stepped out of them without preamble. He even arched his back a little, pretending to stretch. He was putting on a bit of a show, but the way Illya’s eyes widened made it worth it.

Napoleon sat back down, spreading his legs a tad farther than was absolutely necessary. He hid a smirk, noting with pleasure that Illya’s gaze, which had been fixed firmly on the chessboard, was now glued to Napoleon. Napoleon sighed, leaning back in his chair, arching his head slightly to the side to expose more of his neck. Illya visibly swallowed, and Napoleon allowed his lips to part in a wide, predatory smile. 

“Your move.” Napoleon said sweetly, batting his eyes innocently. Illya’s eyes narrowed, which only made Napoleon’s grin widen. He simply _adored_ when Illya got angry with him, and Illya knew it. 

Illya let out a slightly huff of frustration, shaking his head and returning his attention to the board. Napoleon frowned slightly. He couldn’t have that. Although, it wasn’t as though he could lose anything else. He was already naked. What else could Illya possibly want him to do?

“We need to make a new bet.”

“I beg your pardon?” Napoleon asked, raising an eyebrow. Illya looked up at him, his gaze tracking slowly up Napoleon’s body before meeting his eyes.

“You lost.” Illya replied, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a smug smile. “So, we need new stakes.”

Napoleon paused, considering Illya’s statement. True, he had lost their previous bet in rather spectacular fashion, and, if he was being completely honest, his goal of getting Illya naked and flustered had failed in equally spectacular fashion. Illya really was irritatingly good at chess. 

“Alright.” Napoleon said, spreading his hands in a magnanimous gesture. “I’m a man of my word. What sort of stakes were you thinking of?” 

Illya shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What else can you lose, Cowboy? You’ve already lost your clothes and your dignity. I don’t think there’s anything else I can take from you.”

Napoleon flushed, his pride slightly hurt. “Who says I’ve lost my pride, Peril? _I_ certainly don’t mind my state of undress. It’s rather freeing, actually. You should try it sometime.” He threw Peril a sultry wink, unabashedly undressing the taller man with his eyes. He expected Peril to flush, avert his gaze, and overall, be far more awkward and adorable than he had any right to be.

Instead, Illya simply shrugged, and turned back to the chessboard. “Maybe after I beat you. If you’re good.”

Napoleon coughed, his face heating up. Well, Peril was just full of surprises tonight, wasn’t he? Pity that losing at chess seemed to be unavoidable. Napoleon frowned as Illya didn’t let up, continuing to take his pieces with a rather unwarranted enthusiasm. He couldn’t even pretend it was for the purpose of seeing him naked, because, well, Peril had already succeeded spectacularly at that. No, this was solely to humiliate him, and Napoleon didn’t respond well to humiliation. 

So, naturally, he resorted to other methods to drag Illya’s attention off the game.

He casually dropped his hand to his cock and stroked once up the length, his breath catching slightly as he did so. Illya nearly dropped his pawn, his eyes widening almost comically as he stared incredulously at Napoleon. Napoleon smiled and repeated the movement, letting out a slight moan as he did so. Illya’s gaze seemed torn between watching Napoleon’s hand on his cock and watching Napoleon’s face, and Napoleon noticed with a surge of pleasure that had nothing to do with the movement of his hand that Illya still hadn’t made his move.

“You’d better make your move.” Napoleon said, his voice ragged. “I’d hate to distract you.” He flashed Illya a quick, smug smile, not stopping the movement of his hand. Illya’s eyes narrowed, and all of a sudden the chessboard and table were being thrown to the side, pieces scattering everywhere. Napoleon barely had time to make a noise of protest before he was being pulled onto Illya’s lap, the taller spy fisting a hand in his hair and kissing him roughly. Napoleon let out an embarrassingly loud moan, which, really, wasn’t his fault, because Illya was a rather unfairly good kisser. If he’d known Illya was so talented, he’d have done this a hell of a lot sooner.

Napoleon stopped the motion of his hand in favor of wrapping his arms around Illya’s broad chest, the feeling of skin on skin almost intoxicating. He ground down experimentally on Illya’s crotch, and was rewarded with a low, choked moan. Napoleon couldn’t help but smirk. It was just so _satisfying_ to watch Illya’s resolve crumble. It was almost erotic, in a way. 

Napoleon was abruptly jerked out of his reverie when the hand in his hair suddenly pulled sharply, yanking his head back. He gasped, his hips jerking upwards, his breath catching in his throat as Illya fell upon him, lips on Napoleon’s neck. He kissed and bit at the skin, pulling moans and gasps of “Illya” from Napoleon’s throat. Illya’s other hand made its way up Napoleon’s leg to rest on his hip, pulling him closer. Napoleon groaned as Illya thrust up against him, allowing his head to loll back to give Illya more access to his throat.

“Fuck, Illya.” Napoleon panted, his hips rolling as he ground down on the solid length beneath him. He could hear Illya’s ragged breathing next to his ear, the blonde man’s breath catching when Napoleon ground down particularly hard. Illya’s hand came down from Napoleon’s hair to rest on his hip, strong hands gripping him almost painfully tight. There were sure to be bruises there tomorrow, and Napoleon let out a stuttered, high whine when he thought of the mottled blues and purples in the shape of Illya’s fingers. Reminders, _reminders_ of what they were doing right now. _Fuck._

Illya pulled Napoleon’s hips forward, interrupting the slow pace that Napoleon had set. Napoleon let Illya dictate the pace, let him take control of the movement of Napoleon’s hips, let his own head fall back, lips parted as pleasure curled in his stomach in a hot pool. Illya set a brutal pace, rutting against Napoleon with an almost animalistic desperation. Napoleon let out a loud gasp when his cock rubbed against the rough denim of Illya’s jeans, and Illya immediately stopped, worry creasing his brow.

“Cowboy, are you-did I hurt you?” Illya asked, his accent thicker than Napoleon had ever heard it. Napoleon shook his head frantically, his words lost in a haze of lust. He fumbled with Illya’s belt, taking a moment to curse the damn thing for being impossible to open. Illya covered Napoleon’s hand with his own, gripping his wrist hard. Napoleon let out a slight hiss, stopping his frantic movement. With his other hand, Illya undid his belt and pulled it off, tossing it aside. He opened his mouth, then stopped, frowning, clearly frustrated by his inability to communicate.

“Do you want…” He trailed off, letting out a noise of frustration, and gestured towards his crotch. Napoleon raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t the least subtle request for a blowjob he’d ever gotten, but it was certainly up there. He certainly wasn’t opposed to it, far from it, but he’d so been looking forward to hearing how that filthy request would sound when it was Illya growling it out.

Without further preamble, Napoleon slid down Illya’s body until he was on his knees in front of him, between the taller man’s spread legs. Illya was staring down at Napoleon, eyes wide, as though he couldn’t believe what was happening. Napoleon smirked up at him, winked, and undid the button on Illya’s trousers. Illya gasped, one hand gripping the wood of his seat so hard it creaked underneath his fingers, the other hand coming up to tangle in Napoleon’s hair. Napoleon was most decidedly _not_ turned on by this show of strength, and instead undid the zipper on Illya’s pants, smirking in spite of himself when Illya visibly gulped.

Illya’s grip on his hair grew almost painful as Napoleon eased his pants over his thighs, his grin widening into something predatory as he saw the bulge in Illya’s underwear. Napoleon cupped Illya’s hard cock, squeezing gently, and was pleasantly surprised when Illya let out a loud groan, his head falling back. Napoleon repeated the motion, and was pleased when Illya continued to be just as vocal and receptive. The word _gorgeous_ came to mind, with a brilliant clarity that made Napoleon gasp. Fuck, he was ruined, wasn’t he? There was nothing that could possibly compare to watching Illya fall apart under the lightest of touches, under _his_ touches, the most beautiful sounds tearing their way out of the normally composed spy’s throat.

“Fuck, Solo, пожалуйста.” Illya gasped, his eyes screwed tightly shut, an almost pained expression on his face. Napoleon smirked, continuing to rub Illya’s cock through the fabric of his boxers.

“If you want something, I’m afraid you’ll have to ask for it.” Napoleon said, not bothering to keep the teasing tone out of his voice. Illya let out a frustrated groan, the hand not in Napoleon’s hair coming up to cover his face. Napoleon’s grin widened, enjoying Illya’s shame. He ran the palm of his hand over the clothed length of Illya’s cock, enjoying the choken gasp that Illya let out. 

“I’m waiting.” Napoleon said, looking up at Illya innocently. Illya flushed, but kept stubbornly silent. Napoleon sighed. Damn Illya and his inability to admit to wanting anything. Still, at least it seemed to work out in Napoleone’s favor in this instance. He didn’t often have the opportunity to have the upper hand over the other spy.

Napoleon sat back on his heels with a sigh, folding his hands demurely in his lap. Illya looked down, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“What-what are you…” Illya trailed off, looking more than a little apprehensive. 

“I told you.” Napoleon said patiently. “If you want something, you have to ask for it. If you don’t ask, well, I’m afraid I won’t be able to do anything, and I’ll be forced to finish myself off on my own.”

Illya’s mouth dropped open in outrage. He spluttered wordlessly for a few moments, then muttered some choice words in Russian that were no doubt insulting. “What do you want me to say?” Illya forced out through gritted teeth, glaring down at Napoleon.

Napoleon tilted his head to the side, considering. “Well, I suppose something like “Napoleon, please suck my cock” would be acceptable.” He said cheerfully, smiling brightly. “Though I would be willing to accept begging or offers to exchange similar favors.” 

Illya’s flush deepened, and for a moment, Napoleon thought he’d pushed him too far. Then, cheeks still blazing scarlet, Illya murmured “Please suck my cock, Napoleon.”

Oh, if those words didn’t sound even better than he’d imagined. Illya’s low voice sent a hot spark of desire down Napoleon’s spine, and hearing those filthy words come out of Illya’s mouth, while he was blushing, no less, was more than enough to make Napoleon’s head spin with lust. 

“Well, when you put it that way,” Napoleon said, his bright grin not hiding how dark his eyes had become. “I suppose I can hardly refuse.”

With that, he leaned forward, pulling down Illya’s underwear to grasp his cock. Illya let out a loud groan, half relief, half pleasure, and tipped his head back, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Napoleon thought about stopping and forcing Illya to keep his eyes open, to watch him as he sucked Illya off, but decided against it. He’d had his fun, and his own cock was hard and throbbing between his legs. At this rate, he was going to embarrass himself by the time Illya got a hand on him.

Taking a deep breath, Napoleon leaned forward, parting his lips to allow Illya’s cock into his mouth. Illya gasped, his hips jerking upwards slightly before he caught himself and stilled. Napoleon sank further down the length, swallowing occasionally and enjoying the sharp hisses that accompanied the movement. He breathed carefully through his nose, wanting to have as much of Illya’s cock in his mouth as he could, because, well, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t trying to show off a bit. Napoleon wasn’t shy about his abilities in the bedroom, and he’d be damned if he didn’t reduce Illya to a moaning, gasping mess by the end of this.

“Fuck, Napoleon.” Illya hissed, the words barely more than a whisper. Napoleon let out a low hum in response, a hot lance of pleasure sparking through him when Illya’s hips jutted forward unconsciously. He lowered his head a little more, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing as he sank farther down on Illya’s cock. Illya let out a helpless sort of whine, covering his face with his hand. Napoleon hummed with satisfaction, relishing in the groan that fell from Illya’s lips in response. God, but that was a gorgeous sight to see. Illya looked almost pained, eyes closed tightly shut and teeth biting his bottom lip so hard he was bound to draw blood.

Napoleon allowed his teeth to grave Illya’s length as he pulled back, slightly harder than necessary. He was caught off-guard when Illya let out a ragged moan, his hips jerking upwards unconsciously in response. Well. Illya liked it a little rough, did he? Napoleon could work with that.

Napoleon let his teeth freely scrape against the cock in his mouth, enjoying the moans and gasps that tore their way out of Illya’s throat. Napoleon was more than tempted to take a hand to his own throbbing cock, because the sounds Illya was making were more than enough to make his cock twitch. And the way he looked…

Illya’s eyes were screwed shut, his lips red and swollen from being bitten, his hand half-covering his face. Every so often, he’d glance down at Napoleon, make eye contact, then have to look away again, clearly overwrought from the sight. Napoleon was sure he made a very pretty picture, down on his knees with a cock between his lips, but to see Illya unable to look at him for fear of finishing...well, that was something else entirely. It was more than a bit of a boost to his ego, but more than that, it made his head spin with lust to think that his normally stoic partner couldn’t even look at him without fear of losing it.

Speaking of which…

Illya let out a gut-wrenchingly arousing sound, throwing his head back. Napoleon barely had time to relax his throat and take a deep breath through his nose before Illya was coming with a cry, his grip on Napoleon’s hair tightening painfully. Napoleon stayed on his knees dutifully until Illya collected himself enough to release his hair, giving Napoleon a bashful, embarrassed half-smile. 

“You, uh...thank you.” Illya mumbled awkwardly. Napoleon gave him a gallant smile, opening his hands in an accommodating sort of gesture.

“What can I say? I’m a generous man.” He replied, standing with some difficulty. Illya noticed that he was still hard, and immediately moved forward. Napoleon waved him off. “I’m fine, Peril. It’s nothing I can’t take care of myself.”

Illya shook his head. “No. That is unacceptable.” He said sternly. Napoleon started to protest, but Illya grabbed his wrist, pulling him down so that he was on Illya’s lap. Napoleon’s breath was knocked out of him in a loud huff, and he was unable to get it back when Illya wrapped a large hand around his cock, leaning forward to kiss him. Napoleon let out an embarrassingly loud moan, hips jerking forward as Illya jacked him off at an infuriatingly slow pace.

“Illya, please.” Napoleon moaned, thrusting forward in a fruitless attempt to get Illya to move his hand faster.

“What was it you said, Cowboy? “If you want something, you have to ask for it?”” Illya said, smirking. Napoleon glared at him, but the effect was somewhat lessened by his glassy, lust-blown eyes.

“ _Please_.” He hissed out through gritted teeth. Illya tilted his head to the side, pretending to consider it. He shook his head, letting out a low tut of disapproval. Napoleon gritted his teeth, swallowing his pride. Fine. If he had to beg, he’d beg.

“Please, Illya, please, go _faster_.” He damn near whined, burying his face in Illya’s neck. Illya hummed approvingly, and Napoleon let out a loud cry as Illya immediately quickened the pace. Napoleon moaned unabashedly, not bothering to try to muffle the noises escaping him. He mouthed along Illya’s neck, not caring if he left marks behind because the stuttered inhale from Illya made it worth it. Illya’s hand twisted, and Napoleon swore loudly as he came. Fuck, he hadn’t finished that quickly in a long time. He’d have been embarrassed were it not for the fact that Illya was kissing him hard enough to bruise, seemingly not caring about the fact that his dick had been in Napoleon’s mouth only a few minutes earlier.

They sat there for a few moments, the only noise the sound of their breathing. Napoleon shifted slightly so that he was balanced more comfortably on Illya’s lap, and Illya obligingly put an arm around him for support. Napoleon nuzzled closer, resting his head on Illya’s shoulder, the blonde man’s skin warm underneath him.

“That was...unexpected.” Illya said eventually, absentmindedly stroking Napoleon’s hair. Napoleon let out a low hum of agreement, completely unwilling to move now that he was comfortable.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Illya said.

Napoleon stirred slightly. “What, the blowjob? You practically asked me if I wanted to suck you off, Illya. What was I supposed to do?”

From his vantage point on Illya’s shoulder, Napoleon’s view of Illya’s face was a little obscured, but even he could see the flush creeping up Illya’s cheeks.

“I, uh, I was trying to ask if you wanted my pants off, but I...forgot the words.” Illya mumbled, ducking his head in shame. Napoleon laughed aloud, his shoulders shaking with mirth. Illya’s flush deepened, and he glared resentfully at the ground, waiting for Napoleon’s laughter to subside.

“Well, I didn’t see you trying to stop me once I’d started.” Napoleon said finally, still struggling to contain his laughter. 

Illya lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Wasn’t going to stop you.” He muttered, cheeks still red. Napoleon grinned cheekily up at him, unable to stop the immense feeling of self-satisfaction that was creeping up his spine. Noticing his grin, Illya’s scowl deepened. “...shut up.” The Russian grumbled, glaring at the floor. Napoleon shook his head, thoroughly enjoying Illya’s shame.

“Pity about the game, though.” Napoleon said, gesturing towards the scattered pieces and upended board. “You were giving me a good run.”

“Good run?” Illya repeated incredulously. “You were losing. Badly. It was easy win for me.”

“Well, we can’t prove that now, can we?” Napoleon said, grinning smugly. “We’ll have to call it a draw.”

Illya rolled his eyes so hard Napoleon could feel it. “Fine, Cowboy.” He sighed. “A draw. But we’ll play again, and I will win.”

Napoleon pressed a kiss to Illya’s neck, wrapping an arm around Illya’s broad shoulders. “I suppose I can live with that, Peril.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was loosely inspired by that scene in Austin Powers where Austin and Ivana Humpalot play chess. Mostly it just gave me the idea of "hey, what if that was an actually serious scene and it wasn't done for comedic purposes?" and lo, this fic was born.
> 
> The Russian spelling of "Ilya" has one L, but in deference to canon, it has two L's here. I don't really think there was much plot to this fic besides stripping, but it's not pure smut, so I figured the "plot" tag was at least somewhat warranted.
> 
> Also, smut is _not_ my strong suit, so I apologize if this wasn't great. I love writing these two, though, so I really hope you enjoyed this!


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